Phobias
by ScaryScarecrows
Summary: A collection of one-shots involving the various mishaps, successes, and general chaos that comes with being the Scarecrow.
1. Unwanted

AN: Perhaps one day I shall move all my previous one-shots in here. But I am lazy, and probably won't. Anyways, very few, if any, of the stories in this collection are about phobias.

_What a stupid title, then._

Shut up or you'll be in a relationship with the Joker!

_You wouldn't dare._

Watch me. Sorry. He's grouchy. Ah, well. Shall we get on with it?

* * *

Granny used to tell him that they'd hoped for a stillborn, and that his grandmother had been all for burying him in the compost heap. He isn't sure how much of that was true and how much of that was her insanity. He suspects most of it probably was true.

His classmates never wanted much to do with him-from the time he was a little boy they kept their distance. It was only later that they learned how fun he was to play with. Fun for them, anyway.

He has a vague memory of his first-grade teacher giving him a hug when he came in one recess, but he's not sure of its reality. In any case, that teacher moved halfway through the school year. Shame, that. She might have noticed his suicidal period in freshman year. Or perhaps not.

He still has nightmares about the things Granny used to tell him when he was a little boy, things designed to cut any fire out of him. _'Your mother never even held you, Jonathan. She didn't even want to look at you.'_

"Jonathan?"

He blinks and wonders how he's been standing out here.

"Mm?"

"It's late and it's cold. Come in before you catch pneumonia."

"It doesn't work like…"

"In. Now."

Well. He can't argue with that.

Seventeen years of isolation have taken their toll, there's no doubt about that. The past fifteen years, though, have balanced out some of the damage.

"Jonathan." He hasn't moved. Whoops. "Come in, it's cold and it's late."

A small hand yanks his sleeve and he finally turns away from the little patio. It really is cold out here. Why didn't he notice that earlier?

He's heard the 'come in, it's late' line before, from other people, but they usually weren't concerned about his well-being. They usually just wanted him to come in and shut up already. Or, in the case of Granny, get cleaned up before he could bleed on her furniture.

"God, you're an icicle." He finds himself being squeezed. Once upon a time he'd have jumped out of his skin at that. Before, he was only squeezed to make him hold still for something painful. "You really need to dress for the weather."

"Mm."

She tugs him over to the couch and plasters up against his side. He sighs and leans back against the slightly-scratchy cushions. Those days are behind him now.

"Thanks, Kitty."

"For what?"

That's a good question. There's no way to word the answer.

"I don't know."

"You are a strange one, love." She says it fondly and he finds that he's still not immune to her nickname for him.

"I suppose."

_"Devil's spawn! I should have agreed to have you buried out there!"_

He shakes his head. She's dead now, she can't hurt him anymore. There's no reason to be afraid of her.

_"Yeah, his ma's a whore and his dad ran off."_

There's no reason to be afraid of them, either. If they're not dead, they're still stuck in that miserable, dying town where they belong.

_"They won't miss me…maybe I can scar a few of them for life if they find me."_

There is a reason to be afraid of himself. For all of Granny's punishments and his peers' games, he came the closest to taking his own life. The scar on his wrist is still visible despite its age.

Kitty jumps and tightens her arms around his ribs. That's right, she hasn't seen this yet. She doesn't know all of the little jump scares sprinkled throughout. This could be interesting.

"Scared yet?"

She nods. He represses a grin and makes himself comfortable, the ghostly voices from his past fading away into nothingness. Those days are over now.

THE END


	2. Costume

AN: For those who have not played, GO AND GOOGLE 'Arkham Asylum Scarecrow'. That said, it did not look spectacularly warm...as Nolanverse Crane is about to find out.

Voodoo-Mutant-Child-**_The only thing I do to birds is twist their necks!_**

Jasmine Scarthing-_Let me guess-I fail miserably and end up in Arkham._

SwordStitcher-I have an alarming amount of one-shots on my flash drive already.

* * *

"I like it!"

"You look ridiculous."

"You haven't even looked!"

"I saw the prototype, which looked ridiculous."

"It did not!"

"Yes it did. Now go put a shirt on. You won't look particularly frightening when you have goosebumps."

"I will not get goosebumps."

Kitty snorted. Ever since they'd gotten that silly game, he'd been barricaded in the lab with a bunch of burlap and needles. For heaven's sake! She'd admit that the needle glove was rather frightening, but running around in nothing but tattered pants and a gas mask was just asking for trouble. Besides, he was a wimp in the cold.

"You look very silly." she told him. "Now go on, take that thing off."

"Aw, come on, Kitty."

"Now, Scarecrow."

"No, and you can't make me!"

And her mother said she didn't have children! Scarecrow was worse than the average four year-old!

"Don't make me get up."

"But it's scary! They'll run in fear at the sight of me!"

"No, they'll realise that you're fragile and rush you. I can count your ribs, you know."

"I am Scarecrow! People fear me!"

"Go stand on the porch for a few minutes, then we'll talk."

He left, grumbling about being nagged. Too bad. Master of Fear, indeed…more like Master of Vanity.

Three…two…one…

"It's cold!"

"I told you so."

"Why didn't you tell me it was going to be cold?"

She rolled her eyes and wished he'd shut up.

"Strip and get into something warmer."

"Warmer?"

"Sweater. Now."

"But, but…"

"March!"

He left again, this time grumbling about women and their hormones. Humph. She was not going to be cold just because he wanted to get warmed up.

Honestly. What kind of moron thought it was a good idea to run around in a gas mask and half-dead pants? Really? Whose idea had that been, anyway?

"Whose idea was that, anyway?"

"S-Scarecrow's." Ah, the nasty Gotham winter had set in.

"That doesn't surprise me."

"C-cold."

"I told you so."

"Keeping the glove."

Well, she couldn't win everything.

THE END


	3. Late Night Shopping

AN: It was inevitable. PROTIP: just send them with the empty box. It'll make life easier for everyone.

SwordStitcher-We shall never know. But I want that glove.

Voodoo-Mutant-Child-It is impractical. And ITCHY. Don't ask how I know this.

Jasmine Scarthing-_Oh, no? That's good. For your sake._

* * *

He supposed it had to happen sometime, but that didn't mean he had to like it. And why were there so…many? Honestly, what was the difference between these things?

Jonathan Crane stood in the women's health section of the store at a complete loss. He was surrounded by twitching, whimpering victims-he'd forgotten his wallet and been forced to resort to robbery.

Really? What idiot insisted on making a thousand different types? They were cardboard and cotton. How many types were really necessary?

There was an annoying jingling noise and he made to put his mask back on. It was only Joker, who looked a little the worse for wear.

"Jonny-baby! What brings you here at this time of night?"

Jonathan raised an eyebrow and gestured to the Aisle of Confusion.

"Guess."

"You too, huh?"

"Yes."

Joker joined him in staring at the brightly-colored boxes. Jonathan was slightly gratified to see that the clown looked just as confused as he was.

"I'm surprised you're bothering."

"She won't shut up." Joker grumbled. "Why are there so many of these things?"

Jonathan shrugged. After a minute, he went up to the front and came back with a large bag. He was _not_ going to stand here all night wondering.

"Not bad."

There. One of everything plus chocolate ice cream and tea.

He was halfway down the block when there was a **_KA-BOOM!_** Joker must not have wanted anyone to know about this errand. He couldn't blame him.

"Kitty?"

"Hi, love."

She looked awful, but at least she wasn't homicidal anymore. That was good.

"I wasn't sure…so…um…here." He dropped the bag at her feet and stepped out of grabbing range. Usually once the murderous urges were gone, she turned into a crier. He didn't want to be cried on right now. Or at all, really.

"Ta." She dragged the bag into their room and shut the door. Jonathan let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.

If he never had to make that errand again, it would be too soon.

THE END


	4. Coffee

AN: Happy New Year to all.

SwordStitcher-True enough. (Although Crane would probably fail at that too, to be honest.)

Jasmine Scarthing-_Laugh all you like. You didn't see what she did to the wall._

* * *

He could do this! He drank the stuff every morning-or else-how hard could it possibly be?

Tea he could make, no problem. Kitty had made sure of that. 'I want to have a sick day that I don't have to make my own.' she'd said. 'God knows I've made it for you enough times.'

Coffee, on the other hand…neither of them had seen any reason for him to be near the machine. He injured kitchen devices. Their first microwave, for instance, had somehow caught fire when he tried making ramen in it. After that, he was allowed near the kettle and _one_ burner-the front left-and that was it. Everything else, he was banned from.

But now Kitty had broken ribs-the Batman's fault, as usual-and was forbidden to do much movement. Doctor's orders.

**_More like doctor's pleas, eh, Jonny?_**

_It was more effective than pointing and intoning._

**_Coffee…_**

_I'm working on it! God!_

Scarecrow made a groaning noise and Jonathan sighed. Okay. Water first. Than coffee grounds. A spoonful should do it. Really, how much could it possibly take?

It took three attempts before he was satisfied with what came out. And look at that, nothing was on fire!

Now what? He knew she took sugar in it-two spoons. Problem was, her definition of 'spoon' was not the same as his. To hell with it. He would just take the sugar bowl with him and she could put her own sugar in.

"Kitty?" He nudged the door open. Maybe she'd gone back to sleep.

"Hullo, love."

"Coffee?"

Her eyes lit up and she put a hand out, but promptly drew it back.

"You didn't drug it, did you?"

God! Drug a drink _one_ little time and never hear the end of it!

"No."

"Promise?"

"Yes."

"Thanks, love."

He was right. Her spoonfuls were rather large. Ick.

"Not bad."

"It took a few tries." he admitted. That got a laugh out of her.

"Not bad, love."

"How are your ribs?"

"They hurt." she acknowledged. "I'll be fine."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah." He would believe her when her breathing wasn't so shallow. "Sit down."

"Kitty, I…"

She set the cup down, leaned over, and placed a kiss on his nose.

"I'll be fine. I promise. Don't fuss."

Well, maybe he'd believe her now.

"All right."

Well, he didn't really need to be down there for another hour or so. Maybe he'd settle back down and enjoy his coffee this morning, instead of just gulping it.

**_You just don't trust her not to get up._**

_No._

Something was off about this coffee…oh, _no_.

"Kitty."

"Yes?"

"I think I made decaf by mistake."

THE END


	5. Relationships

AN: Rubber chickens are serious business.

Jasmine Scarthing-_I don't function without my morning caffeine. __**Yeah, he walks into doors. **__That was one time! I was sick, remember? __**Door. Right there. You walked into it.**_

Voodoo-Mutant-Child-_Oh, yes, because reading the labels on Batman's suit will save me from being thrown against a wall. __**It has labels? **__It was an example. I don't know. __**Look next**_**_time._**

Just-Me-and-My-Brain-_I was trying to see if coffee interacted with my toxin, and there were no subjects available. __**He got us banished to the couch for a month. **__Three weeks. __**It was a month.**_

* * *

Harley Quinn was the only person that could get away with calling the Joker "puddin'". Unfortunately, such privileges came with drawbacks. Namely, the frequent break-up-make-ups.

Jonathan Crane didn't care if they were breaking up, making out, or killing each other. He just wanted the girl to _shut up_.

"I-it was just a rubbah chicken!" she was wailing. "But it was the cheap kind and the head fell off!"

What a shame. Now would she go home?

"I didn't mean to make him mad!"

Of course not. But she was driving Jonathan crazy.

"Of course not, sweetie." Kitty soothed. "It'll work itself out in the end."

Who cared if it did?

"What if it does-ent?"

She was making his head hurt.

Kitty rubbed that spot between his shoulder blades and he sighed. He had been enjoying his night in until _she_ showed up, barreling in and making all that noise. Scarecrow had been all for gassing her, but with their luck Joker would take it as an insult.

"It'll turn out fine." Kitty said again. "Doesn't it always?"

Harley wailed. Jonathan cringed and prayed for a sudden attack of laryngitis. Unsurprisingly, his prayer went unanswered.

"H-he was _really_ mad this time!"

As he had been last time. And the time before that. And probably every other time.

"Everyone has arguments."

"Even you and the professah?"

"Sometimes."

Honestly, he couldn't remember the last really bad argument. Little spats about what to do with the subjects didn't count.

"Really?"

Ah, that was the Real World sinking in-that she wasn't the only one with relationship problems.

"Mm-hm."

"But I've never seen you argue!"

Because they had the sense to keep it to themselves. What a novel concept.

"We do, I promise."

"Is she kiddin', professah?"

Damn. She'd remembered that he was there.

"No, she's not."

That shut her up for several minutes. Then…

"I'm goin' home now. Thanks!"

And she was gone.

THE END


	6. Eyes

AN: I'll be honest here-I spent a good part of _Batman Begins_ going, 'ohh, pretty!'

SwordStitcher-_If Kitty was as annoying as Harley, I'd be glad of the peace._

Voodoo-Mutant-Child-_Joker would not have been pleased._

* * *

She thinks it might have been his eyes that first caught her attention. It must have been-if she hadn't asked for the problem number, she wouldn't have paid him much mind. He'd been tucked up in the back of the class, apparently trying to disappear into the wall. But she had to ask him, and he'd given her that sharp look.

If she was going to be honest, his eyes were _creepy_. They had no business being that blue, none at all. She'd vowed then and there to leave the boy with the scary eyes alone. He was probably going to be a serial killer or something.

Shame he had to offer to rescue her, though, because then things spiraled out of control.

* * *

Falcone doesn't like to admit it to himself, but he doesn't like the director. He looks fragile enough-a regular stick of a man-but something about him is just _off_. Maybe it's those eyes. If this goes wrong, he's having those gouged out.

He isn't at all surprised when one of his boys comes back with stories of Arkham nights, of a Scarecrow that sets even the most hardened inmates to shrieking. He knew there was something wrong! And now he can get whatever he wants out of the little man with the scary eyes.

It doesn't occur to him that maybe he shouldn't bring it up while he's in a padded room with no bodyguards.

* * *

Rachel Dawes has never been more tempted to engage in childish behavior. Doctor Crane is, without a doubt, _the_ most annoying man she has ever had to deal with. Ever.

She's willing to admit that he creeps her out. It always feels like he's probing around inside her head. Maybe he is. Those eyes just aren't natural, not at all.

She tries very hard not to show it, but she's relieved when he finally disappears from view. If she can get him put away, she'll be thrilled. And she'll sleep better at night, knowing that he can't see inside her head anymore.

* * *

If they didn't get him things, he would have worn contacts. Unfortunately, they'd gotten him more than a few things. In college, he could usually get a discount if the clerk was female. (Although a few males had done the same.) Later, in Arkham, he'd successfully convinced the night nurses that he was just working late, and that he had nothing to do with the rash of terrified patients. Nope, nothing at all. Hell, he'd even managed to convince the prison worker that Falcone was insane, despite the lack of screaming until he went in.

But oh, they made his life miserable at other times. He was lucky Kitty wasn't a jealous woman.

THE END


	7. Domesticity

AN: _Jonathan's got someone down in the lab again, so I'll be handling this for the time being. Scarecrow gets so grouchy if he's interrupted...-Kitty_

SwordStitcher-_Who...ohh. Him. Dear god, I thought Scarecrow was going to gas the poor man for copyright infringement. I got him to settle for the grocery store, but it was close._

Jasmine Scarthing-_I don't believe we've met...ah. Jonathan's mentioned you. Sweetie, the man would happily work himself to death if I didn't force him to go to bed on time. Trust me, he's tried_.

* * *

She gathers up the mugs and carries them to the other room. She'll scrub them out tomorrow, maybe, if they're still here tomorrow.

She gets the coffee ready for tomorrow-surely they'll be here long enough for that, _or else_-and gets the kitchen light. It feels like she's forgetting something…maybe it's the other lights.

She gets them, too, leaving the hallway and the bedroom. No, it's not the lights. Let's see…lights are off, mugs in the sink, coffee's semi-prepared…doors! Like they'll do anything against Batman, but they have traps set up for that.

She locks the door, hesitating a minute to watch the rain. It makes the streets look a little cleaner. Well, for Gotham, anyway.

Doors, mug, lights, coffee…_oh._ There's just one more thing.

She goes downstairs and pushes the laboratory door open. Jonathan Crane is asleep at his desk-she knew he would be-one hand dangerously close to pushing a vial off the edge. She moves it out of reach and goes over to his current subject. The woman is lying unconscious on the ground, her hands bound behind her back. Her gag has fallen off-or been pulled down, more likely-and she tucks it back into place. Once she's satisfied, she grabs the woman's ankles and pulls her into the makeshift cell in the corner. Better safe than sorry, after all.

There. All secure. _Now_ she can go to bed. She's tempted to just fetch a blanket and let him sleep down here, but he'll wake up with a crick and besides, she hates sleeping by herself. What can she say? She's never liked to share him, even with a desk.

"Jonathan? Wake up, love."

He's not awake, not really, but at lease she can guide him upstairs and into bed. Well, somewhat-the second she lets go of him he drops down and refuses to move.

"Jon-a-than." she grumbles. "Wake up, you're not sleeping in these." For heaven's sake… "Fine. But don't you dare complain, it's your own fault."

Why does she always have to do everything?

"Ki-Kitty?"

"Mm." Is it really necessary for him to wear the button-ups all the time? What's wrong with a t-shirt?

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?"

"Not now."

"Yes, now." Where did he get this? He didn't have it yesterday. If she has to tell him to be _careful_ around broken glass one more time… "Wait…no. I'm just getting you into pyjamas."

"Oh."

He makes no move to take over. Whatever.

It takes longer than she would have liked to strip him and get him into pyjamas, but that's because he's being uncooperative.

When she comes back from washing her face, he's still semi-awake. She wishes he'd make up his mind.

"Go to sleep, love."

"Trying."

She shoves him over a bit-like it matters, she's going to sleep on him anyway-and settles under the covers.

"Sweet dreams, then."

"Lights off?"

"Mm-hm."

"Coffee?"

"Mm-hm."

"Door locked?"

"Mm-hm."

She clicks off the light and he shuts up. Well, for a few minutes. Then…

"Oh, god, there's a subject…"

"I got her. Go to sleep."

Surely that's not wonder in his voice when he says, "You got her?"

"Yes. Go to sleep."

"Oh."

Goose. She shakes her head and settles down. Bedtime. At last.

THE END


	8. Kiss

AN: I really, really tried to make this all nice and sappy. As someone who hates sap writing about someone else who hates sap, that didn't go so well. Sorry. Wait…no, I'm not. If you want sap, write it yourself.

SwordStitcher-_Funny you should ask about that..._

Jasmine Scarthing-_Batman's not the only intruder in Gotham._

Just-Me-and-My-Brain-_You'd be surprised at how often that happens, actually._

* * *

Jonathan Crane really doesn't like kissing. First off, it's a good way to get sick. Second off, it serves no

purpose whatsoever, especially in public. Third-and most important-he has never been able to get used to the idea of a foreign tongue in his mouth. Ugh. What is the attraction?

He supposes his dislike stems-mostly-from lack of experience. He's kissed two people in his life, one drunk girl and Kitty. And the drunk girl didn't give him much choice.

She'd been a classmate of his that lived in the same apartment building. She'd come up one night to ask if they had any alcohol. They did, but he didn't want to share it. She was drunk enough. When he said no, she sort of…_lurched_ at him and tried to bite his face off. Even Scarecrow had threatened to throw up a little.

Kitty's the exception to the rule. She never gives him much choice, either, but she usually gives him some sort of warning. Sometimes, anyway. Occasionally.

Yeah, not so much. Like now. One minute he was dozing off on the sofa, and the next minute he was wondering what to do with his hands and unable to ask.

"Hi."

Um. Right. Say something.

"Hello."

"How was your nap?"

Nap? She'd just…but, but…really?

He will never understand females.

"Fine."

"Will you do something for me?"

"Anything." he breathes.

"Run out and get me half a dozen eggs, I want to start supper."

Reason four he doesn't care much for kissing: it's usually used as leverage. That's just not fair.

Although…if she can do it to him, who's to say it doesn't work both ways?

THE END


	9. Client

SwordStitcher-**_All we have to do is look really pathetic. Maybe take off the glasses. _**_It hasn't been working as well lately, though... __He's not the only one who's wising up._

Jasmine Scarthing_-__**That's what I tell him all the time! He never believes me. **__I do believe you, I just don't care. __**I would have to get the lame alter. **__Oh, yes, you'd rather be stuck with the Penguin. __**NO.**_

* * *

He considered himself lucky. The Scarecrow was a difficult bastard to track down, and it was even more difficult to get an audience with the guy. Admittedly, he wasn't exactly for hire, but maybe with enough money…

"What do you want."

The masked man was sitting very straight and very still. He was reminded of his cat when she saw a mouse. He didn't like being the mouse.

"I want to buy something from you. Your drugs."

"No."

"I have the money."

"I don't sell my services to any idiot that waltzes in here with a stack of counterfeit hundreds." There was a smirk in the man's voice. "The only thing I offer is a taste of them."

"No! No. Please. It's my boss…"

"Are you deaf, or just mentally incompetent?" Hey! "I don't sell my services. No, no, don't get up. We haven't finished our chat."

He didn't care. He had to get out of here, had to get out of here…

"I said, **_don't get up_**."

The masked man stood and stepped in front of the door.

"We still have things to discuss. Namely, your potential as a test subject."

"Wha-…no!"

Then the screaming began.

THE END


	10. Fictional

I don't see why this is necessary. They already stalk me. Why should I make it easier for them? You owe me at least one favour-you tell them.

What? _Fine_. But one day you will wake up to a tall figure looming over you. And before you get excited, that tall figure will be carrying a large knife.

You fanfiction writers will be the death of me one day, I swear. Well, some of you have been already. What is that? Are you all death fetishists? Actually, don't answer that. I don't want to know.

**_I do!_**

Shut up, Scarecrow. I am the narrator. You can't be trusted.

I have a request. A small one. You should be happy to honour it, since you all apparently love me so much. God knows why, I go out of my way to be unloveable.

**_It's the face. Or the eyes. Or the backstory._**

Shut up, Scarecrow!

PLEASE. Stop writing about me. Stop flinging me into nonsensical situations, or pairing me up with that damned clown, or…anything, really. It's bad enough that I'm at the mercy of my own creators, but to deal with you lot…it's too much!

That felt good.

Please think it over. I beg of you. There, you see what you've done? You've got me to beg. Are you happy now?

Hopefully we won't have this discussion again. Good bye.

Jasmine Scarthing-_He shouldn't have invaded my office. I was busy._

Just-Me-and-My-Brain-_I get the feeling you'd fling yourself at Batman if I asked. That might be interesting..._


	11. Revenge

AN: The unfortunate Bolton is from the cartoon. I never liked him. On a side note...don't fuck with the Scarecrow. He will find you. You will be sad. And insane. _Or dead. I'm not adverse to killing. _Fine. That, too.

SwordStitcher-_You all laugh at my misery. Be grateful for the fourth wall. You could be my friend in this story._

Just-Me-and-My-Brain-_Something tells me I shouldn't believe you. I never can trust anyone anymore..._

Jasmine Scarthing-_...Pretty. Sometimes I wonder about self-mutilations...but then I remember the Joker._

* * *

He was happy to wait. He'd always been patient. He had to be, waiting for hours in that crumbling chapel, knowing that the slightest move would bring Hell and damnation down upon his head.

They'd brought him back, locked him up with the very inmates he'd tormented. They'd quietly drawn straws-well, pieces of plastic fork, really-to see who got him first. He'd _technically_ drawn the longest, but with Harley in the cell next door…he could almost feel bad for him. Almost.

He'd a while to think about this, about how it would go. They wouldn't let them in the same room together-had some ideas of him 'talking the patient to death'. To be fair, they weren't unfounded. He'd done it before, twice. That had been an interesting mental exercise…

But no. It was time to go back to basics. He'd been wearing his needle glove when they brought him in this time. It was so much fun, that needle glove. The mere sight of it set his victims to quaking. (Granted, Kitty thought it was a little over-the-top, but…)

The lights go out. It's showtime.

The Riddler had hacked the system and set it to shut down at midnight, right before the guard's coffee break. Since the Joker wasn't in at the moment, they could rely on Batman being busy this evening. (That damned clown, maybe tonight would be his last laugh!)

He slipped out of his cell, taking care to be quiet. He'd just take a shortcut to the lockers…turn left, left, right…ah. Here they were. And there was his faithful glove, just the way he'd left it. They'd even been too scared to empty it! He couldn't blame them. There'd been an accident the first time they tried-he could hear the screaming for _hours_ Lovely, lovely shrieks, they'd been. All about angels. How interesting. But he wasn't interested in a lowly guard, not tonight. He had plans for tonight, thank you very much.

Once he'd gotten out of the itchy jumpsuit, he strolled back down the hall, grateful for the darkness. Funny thing, darkness. One could never pinpoint a sound's origin in the dark.

"Sing a song of sixpence, a pocket full of rye…" Was that a whimper from the cell at the end? Surely not, not from big, bad, Lyle Bolton! "Four-and-twenty blackbirds, baked in a pie." Oh, it was a whimper! How marvelous. "When the pie was opened, the birds began to _sing_…" And here was the door handle. He slid it open and locked it behind him, listening to the faint sounds of the ruckus behind him. "No one is going to help you, Mr. Bolton. There's no one to hear you scream."

Well, maybe not _no one_. He was here, wasn't he? And he did so love the sound of screams.

It was very sudden-a quick lunge from the darkness, a small prick, and a flood of toxin entered the idiot's arm. He got out of the cell before Bolton could grab him, but he stayed there, by the glass, watching. And waiting. He could practically taste the hopeless terror.

The screams began-short, sharp shrieks of earsplitting terror. He grinned behind his mask and leaned against the window, drinking it all in.

When no words came, he turned away and disappeared down the corridor. The guards would be coming soon and he wanted to go home and take a real shower.

"Wasn't that a pretty dish to set before the king?"

THE END


	12. The Boogeyman

AN: _If ever there were a time that I seriously considered killing him, this was it.__ Oh, please, you'd feel guilty in five minutes. __I would not!__ It wasn't my fault. I have a compulsion to cause fear in others. The doctors told me so. __Rubbish. You want to know what I think?__ Always. __I think you have a sick sense of humour.__ I will neither confirm nor deny that. __I knew it!_

SwordStitcher-I am struck speechless. _She's grinning like an idiot. _Thank you very, very much. _Admittedly, I was good in it. __**You mean we. **__I mean I. _

Jasmine Scarthing-_Naturally. All those sitting ducks...but they were just icing on the cake. I only wanted the one. I hear he can't sleep with the lights off anymore... _I'm so grateful for the fourth wall right now.

Just-Me-and-My-Brain-Come to think of it, I haven't seen any, either. _That's probably in his best interests. _I wonder why? _They like to torture me, not give me revenge._

* * *

"Jonathan, what are…Jonathan?"

"Down here."

"Why are you under the bed."

He backed out, dust bunnies clinging to his hair. He looked ridiculous.

"My mask has disappeared."

"Why would it be under the bed?"

He shrugged.

"All sorts of things are under there. I found an old notebook."

"I don't want to know."

Oh, god, she didn't like the look on his face. Not one bit.

He'd found his mask, in the end-in his lab, where it belonged-and shut himself in there for the rest of the day. She'd tried to go in, once, and found the door locked. _Fine_. She'd just enjoy his share of the ice cream.

_He should lock himself in there more often!_

She was getting ready for bed when it struck her that he was probably asleep at his desk again. She tried the door, failed, and shrugged. Fine. He could get a crick. It would serve him right. How did he think he got upstairs, anyway? By sleepwalking?

"Night, Jonathan."

"Mm."

She got the coffee ready, checked the door, and went upstairs to bed. She sprawled out on the bed, feeling guilty for enjoying all the extra room. Light was off, coffee was ready, door was locked…ahh. Bed.

She was just drifting off when she became aware of the fact that the window was open. Why the hell was the window open? God! Now she had to get up, and close it, and get back to bed without hurting herself.

She was just getting out of bed when she spotted it. A small, brown mass in the middle of the floor.

**_Roach_**_!_

Well, she wasn't getting up _now_. She was just going to lay here and stare at it, lest it move. Ohh, she _hated_ the Narrows!

It wasn't moving. Maybe it was dead. Or dying-the stupid things took ages to die. Maybe she could squish it…no. What if it wasn't dying? Then it would rush her and maybe be _on_ her!

Had it moved? Oh, god, it wasn't dying!

She became aware that the low whining noise was coming from her. That had to stop.

Okay. She was just going to get up and go downstairs. Just downstairs. She wouldn't even go near it.

She had both feet on the floor when it darted towards her. She shrieked and tried to clamber back on the bed when _something_ shot out and grabbed her ankle.

"Motherfucker!" Wait. "Jonathan Crane, come out of there!" It had stopped moving-probably frightened by the commotion. Good.

He let go of her and she scrambled back and huddled against the wall, watching the brown blob.

"Scared?"

"Kill it!"

"What, this?" He picked it up and held it out to her. Ohgodohgodohgod…wait. Was that a _rubber_ roach? And fishing line? Oh, she was going to _kill_ him!

"You asshole!" Why wouldn't he stop laughing? "One of these days, god help me…"

"I couldn't help it, Kitty, I'm sorry."

"You are not!"

"No." She reached for her pillow and got up. "What are you doing?"

"Killing you." she seethed.

"Don't do anything you'll regret…"

"I'm not." She was gratified to see him back away and reach for the doorknob. "Hold still!"

He flung the rubber roach at her and ran for it. Oh, hell no!

"Get back here!"

"Have some work to do, sorry!"

"Get back here and let me kill you!"

Why did he have to have long legs? Why?

He barricaded himself in his lab before she could catch him-dammit! Well, she'd just get comfy. He had to come out sometime, didn't he?

THE END


	13. The Dark

SwordStitcher-_She hasn't done anything yet... __I'm letting him relax and forget about it.__ Oh? __After all...it is such lovely soup weather.__ Soup? __Never mind me, love. Go back to your tea._

Jasmine Scarthing-**_We'll pretend we didn't read that. _**_Kitty, this tea tastes a little off... __You have a stuffy nose, love. That's all._

Just-Me-and-My-Brain-_What is in this tea? __Sugar.__ Maybe that wasn't the best idea, after all... __It wasn't, but I didn't poison you.__ Um..._

Voodoo-Mutant-Child-_I am not eating a cockroach. __Or me.__ I'm not stuffing anything, either. __**I might.**__ Are you sure it's just sugar? __Well, it's not cyanide..._

* * *

He isn't sure what woke him, only that he is lying on his back with his eyes closed. For some reason-was he dreaming, is that what woke him?-he is filled with…fright. Shame he's in no shape to enjoy it.

He is not alone. Something is kneeling by the bed, near his head. He can sense it. It isn't breathing, or moving, but he knows it's there. Batman? No, Batman would have woken him breaking down the door.

_Scarecrow?_

The straw man doesn't answer. He tries to take a breath and finds that he can only take a little one. Oh, god. He's got a collapsed lung, the thing by his head did something…

_"Jonathan."_

He should look and see what it is. He'd gas it, but it's between him and his nightstand and he has _no_ intention of putting his hand out of bed.

_"Jonathan Crane, look at me."_

He knows that voice.

No. He won't look at her. She's dead, this is a bad dream. Any minute Kitty will wake him.

_"Jonathan!"_

Against his will, his head turns and his eyes open. At first, even the blackness is fuzzy. Then he blinks and sees her face, inches from his own.

She's rotting. Her hair has clumps gone and what little skin remains is beginning to peel off. She doesn't have eyes any more-those chilling blue eyes that he inherited are pecked out, with bloody sockets to show where they were.

He squeezes his eyes shut but can't turn his head away from her. He can't breathe he can't _breathe_ god Jesus somebody please…

He feels a long, sharp talon-her fingernail? a crow?-scrape from his forehead to his lips. This is no nightmare. She's finally come back, like he knew she would.

_"Jonathan."_ She sounds just as he remembers her, harsh and unforgiving and heartless. Her  
hand comes to rest on his chest and presses downwards, making him wheeze. _"Look at me, Jonathan Crane."_

Somebody…please…

He opens his eyes again, hoping against hope that facing her will make her disappear. She's out of his line of vision now, mostly-all he can see of her is the top of her head. Her skull is shining through amongst the bloodstained hair clumps.

He tries to open his mouth to speak but can't get the oxygen to do it. She knows-god help him, she knows everything!-and he hears a rough cackle from the floor.

_"Stupid boy."_

No, please…

Then there's blinding light and someone-Kitty, it's just Kitty, with her soft hands and mercifully short nails-is shaking him.

"Jonathan. Jonathan, wake up, you're having a nightmare."

Like hell. He's had nightmares, and that wasn't one.

He can breathe! Shuddering, feeling like he nearly drowned, he pulls himself up and out of bed. She's here, she's still here somewhere…

"Jonathan?"

He doesn't answer her.

Under the bed? That's a logical place. But the only under there is a herd of dust bunnies. Maybe the closet…no. Nothing there at all. The door's closed, and there's nowhere else to hide…there's no loose floorboards in here?

No. Not even a creaky one.

He falls back on the bed, breathing hard, still feeling that claw running down his face. That was no nightmare. He can tell the difference.

"Jonathan?"

He squeezes her, feeling his heart pounding against his ribs. She was here, he saw her…

"What's wrong, love?"

"Granny was here."

"That's not possible."

He shakes his head. With Granny, anything is possible.

"Saw her. Felt her."

She tries to pull back-probably to check him for fever-and he tightens his grip. Not now.

"Please."

"You're safe, love, you're all right. She wasn't here. She's dead."

She may be dead, but she was here.

"Kitty…"

"You probably had an episode of sleep paralysis."

No. He's had that before, too, and it wasn't like this.

He lets her pull back and feel his forehead. Her hand is cold.

"Just a bad dream." she says firmly. "I am going to get you a glass of water. You are going to get into some fresh pyjamas and then get back in bed. You are all right, I promise."

He doesn't want her to leave. What if Granny comes back? What if she's in the hall, waiting?

"Kitty, please…"

"Shh. Two minutes, love. You're all right. Deep breaths."

She disappears into the dark hallway and he sits up to dig out a fresh shirt and pants. Maybe she's right…Granny is dead, after all, he checked…

He's just pulling his shirt off when he spots something outside on the sill. He can't see much, because of the rain, but it looks like a human…Batman?

He blinks and it's gone, just as Kitty comes back with a glass of water.

"Feeling better?"

No, not at all, but he forces a smile anyway.

"Yes."

"That's good. Come on, back in bed."

He forgoes the shirt and settles under the blankets after downing the glass. Maybe Kitty's right. Just a dream. Just a bad dream.

"Sweet dreams, love." She kisses his forehead and settles down with her arms around his ribs. Safe. He's safe and Granny's not here.

He clicks off the light and closes his eyes, determined not to open them again until morning.

God dammit it…there's something under his lower back. This mattress is falling apart, it's probably part of the spring.

He rummages around until his fingers close around something sharp and pointy. Hm. Feels like he can pull it out. Maybe it's something else in the mattress?

He draws it out and fumbles for his reading light. What is this…oh, dear god.

Held in his trembling fingers is a long, black crow feather.

THE END

AN: Supernatural? Unhappy coincidence? Up to you. Jonathan's 'sleep paralysis' episode is based on my own experiences. Most unpleasant, I assure you. Pleasant dreams.


	14. Nighttime

AN: Directly related to 'The Dark'. _What did I do to deserve this? _You came pre-packaged with a traumatic childhood. _God dammit._ Sorry. _You are not._ ...No. Not really.

SwordStitcher-_Any Granny is frightening, thank you very much._

Jasmine Scarthing-_It is. Fascinating afterwards, however._

Just-Me-and-My-Brain-_Oh, joy._

* * *

He can't sleep. He hasn't slept for several nights, and Kitty's beginning to notice. But there's nothing he can do.

Maybe he's crazy, maybe he's sleep-deprived, or maybe she did come back from the dead. He doesn't know and he doesn't care. All he knows is that he does not want to sleep by the edge of the bed. Or, for that matter, sleep at all.

He's lying here, in the dark, listening to Gotham's nightlife on the street below. He really is tired…was that the door opening?

No. No, the door is closed. Good.

There's several inches between him and the edge of the bed. If she really is over there, maybe she can't reach him.

There's a horrid fluttering noise outside and he flinches. Bats. Just bats, Gotham is infested with them.

Kitty moves a bit and he tries to slow his breathing. She's not awake anyway. Thank goodness for that.

He risks a quick look over, just to make sure she isn't there. She isn't. Nothing is there but dust particles.

He lets his eyes wander up, up, and onto the resting place of his mask. That thing really is creepy, now that he thinks about it. That is the point, but…

What was that?

Did something move in the corner?

He blinks and tries to focus. No, nothing, but he could have _sworn_…never mind.

God, he could do with a glass of water. He forgot to grab one before coming in here and his tongue feels like sand. He'll just go downstairs and get one. With the lights on.

He puts his glasses on, feels his way out into the hall and goes downstairs. Ahh. Light. Safety.

He chugs the water-blegh, Gotham's tap water is _awful_-and refills the glass to take back with him. He's just turned off the tap when the lights go off.

"Kitty?" She isn't the type to play tricks on him. Not like this, anyway. "Not now, Kitty, I'm tired."

She doesn't answer. Maybe the bulb blew. He flicks the switch and the light comes back on. Faulty wiring, then. How odd.

"If someone's in here, I poison first and ask questions later." Or, more accurately, never. Hopefully they won't know he's bluffing… "I mean it, Batman. Grow up."

No flying rodents hit him in the chest or anything. Yes. Faulty wires. He flicks off the light and starts back up, wishing he had eyes in the back of his head.

This apartment building reminds him of Keeney Manor. Maybe that's why he can't sleep. If he's unsuccessful tonight, he'll ask Kitty about moving.

It feels like someone's behind him. He turns, though, and there is no one there. He'll be glad to be back in bed…

_Something_ touches his shoulder and he turns sharply, scanning the blackness for any sign of an intruder. _There is no one there._

"Hello?" He knows there's someone there, he felt them. "Who is it?"

There's a thumping-dragging sound from the end of the hallway and he feels the blood drain from his face. He knows that sound. Granny made it when she walked-she'd broken her foot when he was a boy and it had never healed straight, necessitating the use of that horrid wooden cane.

"This isn't funny." _Why_ won't his voice stop shaking? "Whoever it is, knock it off. Now."

The thumping-dragging sound happens again and he backs up. It's just rats or a homeless person downstairs or

"Jonathan?"

JESUS FUCKING…

"Kitty."

"Are you all right, love?"

Didn't she hear it?

"Fine."

"Sleepwalking?"

She didn't hear it?

"I…"

"Come on. Back to bed."

She takes his sleeve and tugs him back into their room and tucks him into bed-well away from the edge.

"Thought I heard something."

"Batman?"

"Could have been."

She shuts the door and slips under the covers with him.

"Something outside. Sweet dreams, Jonathan."

He shudders and keeps his eyes shut. After about an hour, he's just drifting off when he hears The Noise again, this time right outside the door.

He doesn't sleep after that.

THE END


	15. Haunted

AN: Directly related to 'The Dark' and 'Nighttime'. Everything sort of snowballed. _I loathe you._ I know. I'm sorry. _Lies._ I let you get revenge a few stories ago, stop complaining._ I had a dream last night in which you were killed by rabid dogs. It was nice._ That's good. *smiling* Help me.

SwordStitcher- _She…_ NO, don't ruin the suspense! _So?_ So spoilers! _Who cares?_ I care, and since I am playing God right now… _You wouldn't._ I would.

Jasmine Scarthing-_She says I can neither confirm nor deny that statement because of 'spoilers'._ Damn right. And thank you very much. :) _Yes, yes, this is all very touching. It's sickening._

Just-Me-and-My-Brain-_How do you think I feel?_ Be nice._ No._ _And you can't make me._ Yes I can. _Prove it._ Hm. This could be difficult. _That's what I thought._

Voodoo-Mutant-Child-_Oh, how reassuring._ I'm not going to kill you off, don't worry. I already did that elsewhere. _That makes me feel SO much better. Really._

* * *

He sits on the bed, staring at the rain, and remembers another time, in another world, when he did the same thing. It was different then-he was usually locked in, waiting for her to make up her mind-forgiveness or birds?

Even now he can hear her coming down the hall-the heavy **thump** of her cane, followed by the soft _shwish_ of her left foot, the one she'd broken chasing him through the cornfield one night.

The door opens and he turns, half-expecting to see her standing there to tell him her decision. She isn't there-of course she isn't, her bones are still in a rotting chapel hundreds of miles away.

"Jonathan?"

He can hear _her_ voice, raspy and cold, like a witch from a fairy tale. Maybe she was a witch.

"Are you all right?"

But _she_ never said those words to him, not that he can remember.

"Yes."

"You look off, love."

Something moves in the shadows behind her-a long black skirt, maybe?

"It's nothing."

She shuts the door and comes over, the clack-clack of her heels oddly reassuring. _She_ never worse them, not after she fell. Maybe never before that, either.

"You haven't been sleeping well."

"No."

"Is something worrying you?"

He's never believed in ghosts, but he always knew he'd never get away from her.

"No."

"You know you can talk to me, right?"

He knows that, but how is he supposed to bring this up?

"Yes."

She hugs him, pulls back, and begins to undress. He drops back onto the bed and watches her start on her shirt buttons.

_She_ would be less than pleased to know what he's doing. Why she would have cared for his spiritual well-being is beyond him.

"Eyes on my face." He jumps and she grins. "Only joking, love. Close the blinds though, will you?"

He reaches up to grab the cord. When he looks again, she's pulling a loose t-shirt over her head.

_"You'll go to Hell, boy, mark my words!"_

He blinks and shakes his head. No, no, she's not here, she can't hurt him anymore.

"You okay?"

"Yes."

"Bad dreams?"

"A little."

"Is it her?"

How does she do that?

"Yes. Sometimes." _Every night, she's here, she's come back for me._

She sits next to him and makes him look at her.

"You tell her, if she comes back, that she had better march herself back where she came from or she'll be answering to me."

He appreciates the sentiment, but the fact remains that she isn't all that…well…impressive.

"Um…"

"I mean it! I have a baseball bat and I'm not afraid to use it!"

He raises an eyebrow and wonders _why._

"Mm-hm."

"Don't make me prove it."

"Oh, I believe you."

He believes she'll use it. He doesn't believe it'll do any good.

"Good. Try to get some sleep, Jonathan, you'll hurt yourself one of these days."

Then the lights are off and her arms are around his neck. Once upon a time that would be enough to make him feel safe, but not tonight.

He can hear breathing in the corner of the room. He knows it's coming from there-it's the one place the bedside lamp won't quite reach.

_You're not here, you're not here._

He hates that noise, that soft, death rattle-y noise. He remembers finding her asleep in her armchair once, and she made that noise. He'd run upstairs and hidden under the covers after that.

It stops eventually and he drapes his arm across Kitty's waist. There's nothing here, he knows there isn't. There can't be.

Kitty murmurs something and moves a bit. Yes, he'll be all right. Logically, he knows that.

But logic doesn't help him sleep.

THE END


	16. Hopeless

AN: Do I really have to tell you that this is related to the last…three? _No. But you can stop posting now._ Too late now, we're halfway through. _Why can't you torture Killer Croc?_ Because you're more fun, and you're the right size to squeeze. _I hate fangirls._

SwordStitcher-_DON'T GIVE HER IDEAS! I am the Master of Fear, not the Master of Fashion! You know what? This is the ending-Granny dragged me to Hell and I'm posting this from the Devil's computer. There. SPOILED._

Just-Me-and-My-Brain-_I do wish I could gas you all, find out your reactions. (And laugh at your despair...) Perhaps I shall conduct a survey. For practical purposes only, of course. _

Jasmine Scarthing-_As much as I would love to say there are no such things as long-legged beasties and boogey men, I have been banned from confirming nor denying your theories. (Spoilers...this is ridiculous, I ask you...)_

* * *

God, he's exhausted. Between his sleepless nights and busy days, he's nearly dead on his feet. But sleep is a dangerous thing these days.

"Jonathan?"

"Mm."

"How is that comfortable?"

It's not. She's short and they're both skinny, but he's tired and she's warm.

"I don't know." He readjusts himself a little and rests his head on top of hers. Sleepy…

"I worry about you sometimes, love." Mm-hm. "You're going to hurt yourself if you don't get a full nights' sleep." No, he won't. "Maybe you should take a nap."

He shrugs and closes his eyes. He'll just stay right here, thank you very much…hey!

"Come on. Off to bed with you."

No. No, no, he doesn't want to go upstairs!

"But…Kitty…"

"Now. And you are not sleeping in that shirt."

What's wrong with the shirt? It's a nice, normal, button-up shirt like all the other ones in his closet.

"Why not?"

"Because you always complain if you fall asleep in it by mistake." So? That's by mistake. He won't be sleeping anyway… "Come on, take it off."

No. And she can't make him.

"No."

"Why not."

"Because."

"We can do this the easy way or the hard way."

Pfft. What's she going to do, jump on him?

Scratch that-yes. She will. She's done it before. _Damn._

He sighs and shrugs his jacket off.

"That's better. Try to sleep, okay? I don't really fancy you dropping a vial and collapsing into a fear-induced coma for a week."

That only happened once, _and_ it wasn't a week, it was two days. Accidents will happen, after all.

"I won't."

"Good."

She waits for him to get out of his shirt before leaving the room and shutting the door behind her. If he leaves the room now, she'll drag him back in. He's stuck here for at least an hour. Joy.

He falls onto the bed, not even bothering with the blinds. The more light there is in this little wooden room, the better.

God, it's bright in here. He rolls over, grudgingly grateful that there aren't any buttons pressing into his ribs.

Maybe he'll just close his eyes for a few minutes…just a few minutes. What harm can that do?

"Jonathan. Jonathan! Wake up."

He feels his entire body twitch. Where is he, what's happening…right. Apartment complex. Nap. God, never again.

He gives himself a minute to try and relax, fails miserably, and tries to sit up. He meets with no resistance.

"Jonathan?" Oh, boy. Here they go. "Are you feeling all right?"

"No." Water, water…ah. Water. It's cold in here. Why is it cold in here?

"What's wrong?"

How can he phrase this, exactly? 'Oh, nothing much, just that my dead grandmother has come back to haunt me.'

Yes. _That'll_ go over so well.

"Jonathan?"

"I don't know." He settles back under the covers. It's _freezing_ in here! "Just insomnia. Forget I said anything."

She looks at him for a long moment. He wishes she wouldn't. _She_ used to look at him like that, when she was debating what to do with him.

"All right, love." But _she_ never called him that. "You know you can talk to me, right?"

She's going to drop it? Really, truly, drop it? She's never done that before!

Who is this and what have they done with Kitty?

"Yes."

"Good. Go take a shower and maybe go back to bed, all right? Maybe you're coming down with something."

Yes, like death.

He shakes his head and burrows further under the covers. He's somewhat safe under the covers.

"Come on. Out."

"No."

She pulls on his blankets and he squeezes them. He is not getting up, and that's final.

"Out."

"Never!" She pulls harder and he feels himself slide towards the edge of the bed. "Kitty!"

"Shower."

Fine. But he doesn't have to like it.

Two hours later, now rather sleepy from his shower, he's curled up on the ratty sofa. They forwent dinner in favour of Dairy Queen, but that's over and now his mouth is cold.

"Kitty?"

"Yeah?"

He could tell her right now. She might believe him, his sleep-deprived mind suggests.

"Never mind."

"I am going to grab a shower." she says. "Be right back."

He watches her leave before settling back under the blanket. It's warm down here now, the blanket is soft-it used to be fluffy, but that's a long time ago now-and he really could fall asleep.

He's drifting off when the light goes out. Faulty wiring…it has to be…he'll just get up and flick the switch down and then go on up to bed.

He gets the switch and is nearly out of the room when the light goes back on, just for a second, and then back off.

"I didn't see that." He swallows hard and starts upstairs. They really should move-faulty wiring leads to fires, and fires are bad.

Midnight. It's raining, as per usual. Kitty fell asleep a while ago, pressed up against his back with her hands locked in front of his stomach. He's still awake, trying very hard to keep his eyes closed.

The rain picks up and there's a flash behind his eyelids that says there's lightning now. Great. Maybe the Batman will be struck down mid-swoop. That would be funny.

He stretches a bit and wishes he could just _go to sleep_ already. Maybe if he looks and reassures himself that there is nothing in that corner, he'll be successful.

The God of Fear, scared to look into the darkness! If this ever gets out, he'll have no choice but to go on a killing spree. He's never liked killing sprees-too messy, too Joker-esque.

Okay. He'll look. There's nothing there, and he'll prove it to himself.

Three…two…one…

He looks, just as a flash of lightning hits the room. He has never been so wrong.

_She's_ there, standing in the corner with her can held primly in front of her. She isn't doing anything, she's just…staring at him.

She's not real. She can't be real, she's dead, he made sure of that…

_So why is she standing in the corner, watching him?_

Everything around him seems to disappear and for a long moment he's a little boy again in trouble for something.

_She's not real. She's a hallucination. I'm overtired and overworked and maybe I inhaled a little too much toxin this afternoon._

Lightning flashes again and it seems to him that she's moved. A few more flashes and she's standing beside him, laying one birdlike hand on his head.

_God help me._

He can't move, not that it will help him anyway. He has the sinking feeling that his toxins will not affect her, and Kitty's baseball bat is on her side of the bed.

_"Jonathan."_

What does she want, after all these years? Was she sent to drag him down with her? Is that even possible?

_"Jonathan."_

He tries to take a breath and finds that he can't. Then he tries to move-something, anything, even a finger-and can't do that, either.

The hand on his head moves and for a minute he thinks she's gone, but then it's on his throat, squeezing, squeezing, **_squeezing_**…

Then she's gone. Just…gone…and he's coughing, struggling to catch his breath.

He was right, all those years ago. She was never going to let him leave.

THE END


End file.
